


All Who Are Hungry

by Jane St Clair (3jane)



Category: West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jane/pseuds/Jane%20St%20Clair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're going to take Sam out and get him drunk and put him<br/>to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Who Are Hungry

They've kissed before.  Sometimes seriously, sometimes not.  At least  
once before in a whiskey-sodden crush of mouths that ended with him  
clinging to the back of Josh's collar, and Josh's hands both twisted  
into the lapels of Sam's suit jacket.  Like all the fire and reason in  
the world pouring out onto his tongue.

There's this cab that he got poured into, what must be hours ago.    
Even this late at night, the traffic is bad.  Slow.  Toby up front.    
Big and brown, this blurry mass of tweed even in the magnificence of  
his overcoat.  Donna on his right, happy and relaxed, shoes off,  
humming with her temple pressed to the window.  Josh on his left.

If he were just a bit more sober, he wouldn't be so close to crawling  
into Josh's lap.  It's only his seatbelt keeping him in check right  
now.  And even with it tying him down, he's got his face pressed into  
some part of Josh's chest and shoulder.  Breathing through him.    
Loving the wool-silk-cotton-aftershave smell of him.  Not a synthetic  
fibre anywhere on the man's body.  And Josh's hands are there,  
cradling the back of his head.  Josh hasn't said anything since they  
piled into this cab and decided to make a tour of the police state  
that DC's turned into tonight.  Sam kisses the cloth pressed against  
his mouth and makes a serious attempt to bury himself in those layers  
of coat.

Up front, Toby says, "Somebody remind Sam that he's straight."

"Sam, you're straight."  Donna.  Whose hand is brushing his back, just  
lightly.

He mutters, "Prove it."

"The call girl you slept with might qualify as proof."  Toby, who's  
pretty snarky for a sad, fat man who's secretly just as drunk as the  
rest of them.

"Guy can do diff'rent things iffe wants to."

"Sam . . ."

He has a lot more motor function than he would have expected.  Enough  
to sit up a bit, and grab Josh's head, and pull the man down for a  
kiss.  Enough to make the kiss good.  Deep and open-mouthed and not-  
rough.  Everything that made Laurie like him and Mallory hate his  
guts.  Passionate as he can manage while he's at an angle this bad.    
Long enough to make Donna poke him hard in the ribs.

"Hands off, Sam.  My boy."

"I don't remember saying I was yours."

"Shut up, Josh.  You don't get to vote."

"And you call this a democracy."

"Tell me you didn't just kiss Josh, Sam."

"OK, I won't."  Happy.

"He kissed Josh."

"Shut *up*, Donna."

"Sam, as your boss I'm telling you not to kiss any more guys in this  
car."

"It's OK."  And that, oddly, is Josh.  Who hasn't quite swallowed his  
bemusement and sounds surprised that he's saying such a thing.

"If that's a commentary on his kissing skills . . ."

"No.  It's just . . . it's cool.  I won't worry about it if you  
don't."

Sam nods absently and goes back to burying his face in Josh's coat.    
Thinking that Donna isn't actually mad at him, but only because she  
doesn't believe he really just did that.  And because she knows she  
owes him, and because -- once, when he wasn't numb -- this was a  
heartbreaker of a day.  And he didn't even have to listen to the whole  
cheese speech.

The cab stops, and somebody lets Josh out.  Josh bundles Sam inside,  
props him up in the hall.  "Jeez you're heavy.  Who does this for you  
normally?"

"Ginger."  He's sure it's Ginger.  He's very, very used to the smell  
of her perfume.

"She's your mother now instead of just your assistant?"

He looks up.  Feels like the Man in Black before the miracle pill's  
taken full effect, like his neck won't actually work.  "I happen to  
know that Donna does your laundry."

Josh looks offended.  "Just that once."

"You lie like a cheap rug.  She could probably tell me which pair of  
boxers is 'Thursday'.  Marry her already."

"Nope."

"What?"  He can't even think which question that was an answer to.    
Insignificant compared to Josh's sudden mouth against his.  Hard  
impact, but after that very soft.  The first time he kissed Josh, he'd  
expected . . . well, something he didn't get.  A girl's mouth, maybe,  
which it definitely wasn't.  Even baby-faced as Josh is, there's more  
than a hint of stubble at this hour, and when they press too close  
together, it makes a hard burn across his lips.  Or maybe some kind of  
prison-rape kiss where he got held down and just orally abused.

Josh kisses him more tender than anyone he's had in his entire life,  
and why the man won't sleep with him is something that doesn't make  
sense at this late and drunken hour.  It's proof of a universe of  
cruelty that Josh has decided to undress him as part and parcel of the  
"put Sam to bed" proposition.  Shirt goes, pants go.  Nice, very shiny  
shoes go.  Watch, belt, tie.  T-shirt.  Just Sam in boxers, a drunken,  
civil-servant extension of the Fox in Socks.  Tempting Knox in the  
form of Josh to do Very Bad Things.

Josh kisses him once more, and cradles Sam's head against his chest.    
Waits.

He hasn't cried since he was fifteen, but Sam gets very still in the  
warm circle of those arms.  Whispers, "Twenty-eight years," into Sam's  
chest.

"What did he say when you called him?"  Meaning his father.  Traitor.    
Makes him wonder what it's worth to be the favourite son of the  
liberal survivors if one's parents managed to betray your carefully-  
tended faith in human nature.

"He said he was sorry.  For hurting me.  Not for what he did."

"Would it help if I said *I* was sorry?"

"Nope."

"OK."

Sam lifts his face away, almost-not-quite looking for another kiss.    
Doesn't get it.  Josh smooths the hair back from his forehead and  
starts folding him into bed.

"You wanna stay?"

"I'm not going to."

Sigh.  "Why not?"

"Because I told myself I couldn't about a hundred times in the cab on  
the way over."

Which doesn't seem fair, except that Sam's drunk, and Josh *knows*  
Sam's drunk, and Sam knows Josh well enough to know that Josh isn't  
one to molest a drunken man.  Even if he's two-and-a-half sheets  
himself.

Josh bends over him and presses their foreheads together.  Stays that  
way, bent over Sam's almost-naked body, still fully clothed, even in  
his coat.  Curly hair brushes his forehead.  Tilts his head down,  
kisses Sam's mouth briefly, and goes back to the forehead rest.  And  
just sits there, wrapped in his wool coat to protect them both from  
the night.  Listening to Sam breathe from two inches away.


End file.
